Addicted
by shiromisa
Summary: A look inside the heads of various characters. Life is a series of moments somehow strung together into something profound; these are a few of those moments.
1. Amber Sweet

**Addicted**

My first REPO! fanfiction! Hopefully I haven't done too badly. Anyway, I'm planning on having this one be a series of character drabbles. First up is Amber Sweet.

**Addicted to the Knife**

**Amber**

The words fell from her lips like perfumed flower petals. "I've other ways to pay, Graverobber. Come up and try my new parts." She eyed him enticingly. "Help me break 'em in."

He said nothing, but stared at her, eyes smoldering with lust and loathing. The pain throbbed dully behind her eyes as she spun and walked up the water-stained stairs, hips waving. She heard footsteps behind her and knew that he'd taken the invitation.

The pleasure he gave her was almost enough to drown out the ache. He was good, she had to admit. Every touch of his fingers made her feel nearly as good as a hit of Z. He was silent, but she screamed enough for both of them. It was over far too soon.

He left her mewling on the floor with a blazing glare and two little glass vials. She guessed she'd been satisfactory. The mixture of shame and longing that pierced her after she'd shot up was more than enough to ensure she had the money next time.


	2. Graverobber

**Addicted**

Y'know, I've found that I dislike using proper names while writing these. Hopefully you can tell who I'm talking about. This next chapter is Graverobber, right before Zydrate Anatomy.

**Chapter 2: Drug Market**

**Graverobber**

The kid's hand broke away from his as he turned, and her momentum carried her a few steps farther than him. She almost ran into the bosom of one of his clients, which made him bite back a laugh. What was the woman's name? To be honest, he couldn't remember. Her face was unfamiliar to him; most of his customers' were. Necks were familiar, and thighs, and the insides of forearms—a few of the places Zydrate could be injected. Faces were less important.

His eyes turned to the poster, appropriately emblazoned with a death's-head—"Zydrate Addicts Support Meeting," it said. What a crock. A momentary regret filled him, soon enveloped by his customary cool cynicism. It was sad, yes, but that was life. What was the saying? "Life sucks and then you die"? He'd always thought there was a certain inelegant poignancy to that. It was the truth.

He shook himself out of his reverie and stood to face the Zydrate-starved throng with a sigh. "Drug market," he reflected bitterly. "Sometimes I wonder why I ever got in."


	3. Repo Victim

-1**Addicted**

**Stanza 3: Genetic Repo Man**

**Repo Victim**

Her chest was burning, lungs starving for oxygen, but she couldn't stop. He was coming for her. Her heart was beating so quickly that every contraction hurt, but she welcomed the feeling. The fact that it was still nestled in between her ribs was a miracle in and of itself.

The public address system wailed her death knell, and she stumbled. Ninety days ago, staring at the bill without a credit in her pocket hadn't been so scary. They wouldn't repossess from someone so young, someone with her whole life ahead of her, would they? Of course not. They couldn't.

As she hit a dead end, someone grabbed her shoulder. She felt a line like a paper cut drawn across her neck. Just before she fell, she caught a glimpse of merciless eyes bathed in a blue glow.

The Repo Man.


	4. Shilo

**Addicted**

**Stanza 4: Infected**

**Shilo**

The carved jewel around her neck was an emblem of her isolation. It hung against her plague-stunted chest, a reminder of her future, of what was expected of her and what would happen to her. A reminder of the sickness that would eventually still the heart against which that symbol hung. She resented it sometimes, even hated it. Wanted to tear it off and throw it out the window into traffic. She almost thought if she destroyed it, her curse would be broken, and she could go outside.

But she wouldn't. It was her link to the woman who had borne her, the womb that had cradled her for almost nine months until simply giving up. She should love her mother. Right?

Exhausted and disgusted, she flopped down across her bed. Bitterly, staring at the portrait of above her mantel, she murmured, "I'm infected...by your genetics."


	5. Blind Mag

**Addicted**

**Stanza 5: Chase the Morning**

**Blind Mag**

As she gathered her skirts around her and stepped out of the limo, the wondered if she was doing the right thing. This was Marni's daughter, to be sure; the girl was her mother's very image. It had shocked her when Rotti introduced them with that smug, almost vindictive smirk. The girl was smiling hugely, but she hadn't known what to say. It was almost a blessing when the loudspeaker had called her to sing, away from the reflection of her late best friend.

No, she had no doubts about the girl's identity. What she was unsure of was, should she be involving the girl in her world? The girl was sheltered, very naive; her lack of fear when faced with Largos and henchgirls spoke volumes. No, better to save her innocence; better to just leave.

She sighed softly and turned, intending to climb back into the limousine, but her veiled bodyguard stopped her. The ominous click of the gun echoed in the night air. Obviously, Rotti was going to make sure she made this visit. With a heavy heart, she pressed the call button on the gate. "Shilo? Is your name Shilo?" she asked, dreading the answer.


	6. Shilo the second

-1**Addicted**

**Stanza 6: Seventeen**

**Shilo**

She sat on her bed, her heart a frenzy of impotent rage. She had found another person who cared whether she lived or died, and suddenly that was being taken from her too. After the day's events, being condemned to her life of isolation once more seemed intolerable.

She could feel her heart rate speeding up, a dangerous sign, but she ignored it. Someone had to save Mag. Wild plans surfaced in her mind only to be discarded just as quickly. Dimly, she registered that her father was saying something, but she shook him away, still thinking.

When he called to her, discounting her because of her age, her blood boiled. She put on a sweet smile and walked back to him, silently fuming. Bizarrely, she heard guitar music.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said blandly. "I'm only seventeen. Seventeen." Then her face changed into a glare. "And it's better than forty!"


End file.
